When I was just, little more than a boy,
When all the world was chaos and down,
I used the greatest gift given,
To kill the sound.
Fantasy of real life,
Just to escape the strife,
To never pick up the knife,
But to lay it down.
Years go by and now it’s much later,
I’ve become the greatest fault aggregator,
Still sailing but lost the navigator,
and what the fuck do we do with it all now?
Skills it gave birth to and still we’re a causality, measure our life, just by calamities and all the while we just want to feel the light…but then we set the stage up tonight inside my head.
Cause I can still escape this, run into the bright dark, create worlds and people on a lark, save your soul but we have to live in the real, where kings are madmen and lovely looking bodies do steal, and here I am trying to breathe alone.
The escapist fantasy in me, has made me a drone, dressed me in stone.
But one can always return, heal from the burn, spin that wheel hard, watch it turn…
And be free.